


Didn't I Use To Be Kind?

by hollowsbest



Series: Consequences [1]
Category: Original Work, The Weathervane Journal
Genre: (thanks homestuck now 2nd person is all I can write), Character Study, Consequences Of Your Actions, Gen, Loss of Identity, POV Second Person, The Open Maw (The Bloated King)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27911545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowsbest/pseuds/hollowsbest
Summary: After drinking her own soul out of a cup that consumes magical artifacts (and apparently souls) at the urging of Adrien Dorne, Jasper loses herself completely in the Open Maw.
Series: Consequences [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043850





	Didn't I Use To Be Kind?

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first installment of (as of currently) nine ficlets I wrote about the tabletop campaign I'm in ! usually written after my PC does something that has Consequences
> 
> mostly written with the intent the reader has context for these events, but I imagine you can get enjoyment out of them even if you don't! (I'm also perfectly willing to answer questions, this campaign has been the biggest special interest for me which is why I haven't actually posted anything bc I've only been writing for tabletop rpg campaigns)

The way you feel time pass is like molasses, a slow, steady, _dripping_ substance being consumed as the world turns. Yet, it also feels like the fast-beating heart of a bird. Moving too fast for you to process. Everything blends into itself, your every movement instinctual yet forgettable, your every word, lost to your own memory, the faces you see all transform into the same mockery of human existence. 

You don’t care about _them_. 

They come to you, begging for whatever petty, useless, _thing_ they desire. Lining up and waiting for their pitiful dreams to come true. And you provide, of course. You give them their wants, their hopes, their _dreams_. All you want in return is their soul and servitude, not too big a thing to ask, in your opinion. 

It’s not your fault they don’t read the contract, you need to _eat,_ after all.

The wine bottles grow behind you as contracts continue being signed, all labeled neatly with a name and date of collection. The substance inside glows gently in a variety of colours, casting an ominous glow behind you as you work. It’s barely visible in the dim light of your office, but it’s enough. 

Now and then, you take a bottle down, the oldest of your collection, and pour yourself a glass. The bottle’s contents manage to fit in your glass, despite appearing to have filled the bottle. It takes no time at all to consume, yet you pace yourself with getting another bottle. They’re better with age.

You don’t leave your office, relying on your staff to handle everything else as you perform your deals. Hungry words and toothy smiles, contracts signed and filed, bottled souls and empty heads. 

Nothing matters more than accruing more contracts, and reaping your rewards.

Time passes, you’re not able to keep track as your clock broke years ago. It feels as if you’re asleep, all your actions running through something far larger than yourself, encompassing your entire being. A state of bliss yet holding a deep _want_.

Until someone breaks through the sea of identical faces, someone you _know_ , someone who _shouldn’t be here._ The newness of it pulls you to the surface. You smile, a sharp, toothy thing.

“ _Milo Crane_ , what a surprise!”


End file.
